Outsourcing
by chasingriver
Summary: Sherlock can't get enough sex. Mycroft calls in Greg and John to help him out.


**Beta**: deklava  
**Warnings**: sibling incest  
**A/N**: A huge thank-you to _cookieswillcrumble_ for her generous donation to the AO3 fundraising auction! This story unfolded from her fantastic prompt.

* * *

Mycroft stared across the rooftops of Whitehall and pondered the potential crisis. Not some global instability - it was an instability of a much more personal nature.

Sherlock, it seemed, was bored.

Well, not bored, so much as _unsatisfied. _Sexually.

He had something of an appetite.

He'd shown up three times at his office this week, dropping to his knees the second Mycroft had closed the door. It had been a very pleasant but certainly _not-to-be encouraged_ diversion. Anthea was an excellent personal assistant, but he didn't want her to know anything quite _that _personal.

The logistics had been much simpler when they'd lived together, but Sherlock had insisted on taking his own flat in order to expand his experimental work. Between Mycroft's frequent 'business' trips and Sherlock's newly-successful consulting work, they hadn't had much time for anything other than the occasional dinner at Mycroft's. Hence all the inappropriate, if enjoyable, sex at the office.

Sherlock also hadn't factored in the need to make excuses to John about his relationship.

_Something _had to be done.

* * *

Greg and John sat in the back of an unmarked car currently speeding them towards some unknown destination. They'd both received a summons from Mycroft earlier that day. Greg had already been inside when the car picked up John from the surgery.

"Greg," he said with surprise. "I thought this was a solo kidnapping. Nice to see you."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Bloody nerve. I don't even know what he wants, do you?"

"Not a clue. Perhaps he wants us to spy on Sherlock again. Last time, Sherlock told me I should have taken the money. I'm beginning to think I should, just to make up for lost pay during kidnappings. Mycroft's ridiculously protective of him, even for a brother."

"Probably the drugs thing. Maybe he feels responsible; who knows. How's life with Sherlock?"

"Not dull. He's either running around like a maniac, or in a mood, shooting up the walls. Not bad, though."

"I don't know how you do it, but I'm glad it's working out." Then Greg looked a bit awkward. "This is none of my business, but I'll probably never get another chance to ask. Feel free to tell me to 'piss off'."

"Yeah?"

"Well… do you know… have you figured out…" Greg wasn't sure how to put it, and finally decided to just lay it out there. "Does he date? I know you've said you two aren't involved, but I'm just wondering if…" he trailed off.

"If you have a chance?" John asked, smirking.

Greg turned five shades of red, looked away, and nodded.

"No idea; sorry, mate. He said it 'wasn't his area'. Hell if I know what that means, though. I'm pretty sure nothing's going on at the moment; he rarely leaves the flat. He does have dinner with Mycroft a lot, and sometimes he disappears around lunchtime, but that's about it."

"I'm not sure if I'm happy to hear that or not."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," John muttered. "Living with him has made me rethink my spot on the Kinsey scale."

"I swear, wherever he goes, he leaves sexual frustration in his wake."

"Yeah."

The car pulled up at a posh row house, and Mycroft met them at the door with a smile that looked a little less superior than usual.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I'm sorry to have interrupted your afternoons, but it's a matter of some importance."

He offered them tea and coffee and they sat in a well-appointed living room, looking nervously at him.

"I'm sure you're wondering what's going on. What I need to tell you must remain between the three of us. While technically illegal, I can assure you that it harms no one. If you feel you cannot in good conscience keep this confidential, then I'll not burden you with the information."

"Jesus, Mycroft, then we'll just be dying of curiosity instead. If you say it's not harmful, why is it illegal?"

"Some laws are particularly archaic, Doctor Watson."

John eyed him dubiously. He looked at Greg, who shrugged.

"All right, sure," John replied.

Greg agreed. "It's not like anyone could prosecute you for anything, anyway," he said, only half joking.

"Good. I won't try to sugar-coat this: Sherlock and I are in a sexual relationship and have been for quite some time."

John nearly choked on his tea. Greg's eyes just got really, really wide.

John opened his mouth a couple of times, but each time it snapped closed.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" Mycroft prompted.

John sat there with a perplexed frown on his face. "Um… no. Not yet."

Greg started to laugh, and Mycroft looked a little affronted.

"I'm sorry, Detective Inspector. Do you find this amusing?"

"No… no. Sorry. Not as such. I was just thinking that the sexuality bell curve for London must be well and truly fucked. As it were." He glanced at John and Mycroft. "I mean, really; what are the odds? Does being around Sherlock just make people gay? Oh, sorry - that's probably offensive." Then he looked at Mycroft, mystified, and asked, "Really? You two are actually…?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Well, it explains a lot - that weird tension and the way you two bicker at each other. How do you put up with him?"

"We both have our moments," Mycroft replied. He looked at John, who was still doing a brilliant imitation of a carp. "John, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," John replied, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He looked up at Mycroft. "It's just that when he said it 'wasn't his area', I thought he was asexual or something. Why didn't he just say he had a boyfriend?"

"Probably because producing me as that boyfriend would have gone over about as well as it is now."

"Right. Sorry. I suppose this explains the dinners though. I never could understand why you met for dinner so often if you were his arch enemy."

"Something about keeping your enemies closer, I'm sure," Mycroft replied with a wry smile.

"I don't get it, Mycroft," Greg chimed in. "Why tell _us_? Well - me, specifically. I can see why John would have to know."

"I'm telling you because I need your help, and because I suspect - and I hope this isn't too presumptuous - that you might be interested in assisting me."

Greg and John looked at each other, not really sure what to make of the statement.

Mycroft continued. "My brother's recent move to Baker Street and the demands of my job have taken somewhat of a toll on our physical relationship. To be frank, Sherlock wants sex more often than I can provide it. Since your personal interactions with him have indicated some level of… interest, I thought you both might like to help."

John was back to the carp thing, and this time, Greg wasn't far behind.

"Sex," John finally said. "You're talking about sex. Us, having sex, with Sherlock."

Mycroft gave him a restrained smile. "Indeed."

"Well, I'm in," Greg replied enthusiastically.

John's eyebrows had crawled up somewhere into his hairline, but eventually he just huffed a laugh and said, "Yeah, of course. I wouldn't pass that up."

"Wonderful. I've taken the liberty of procuring your medical records…"

Greg rolled his eyes while Mycroft continued, "… so now it just remains to ask Sherlock."

"Hang on," said Greg. "You haven't even talked to him about this?"

"Of course not. I didn't want to get his hopes up before I found out if you were interested. I suspect he'll be very enthusiastic - this is the first time we've involved anyone else in our relationship. Given his… appetite, I think it will be beneficial for everyone. However, at the risk of stating the obvious, this must be a physical relationship only."

John frowned a bit. "What's that supposed to mean? I do live with him, you know."

"I believe you know exactly what I mean, Dr Watson: no falling in love with him, and no trying to break up our relationship."

"Fair enough. I do think you should start calling me 'John', though. 'Dr Watson' is a bit formal coming from someone who's just asked me to have sex with his brother."

"Of course, John. Gregory?"

"I don't think 'no-strings-attached sex' will be a problem for me."

"Good. I'm glad you both feel that way."

Greg wondered what would have happened if he'd said 'no'. It felt like the point in the Bond film where the poor bastard with scruples tells the villain that he won't play along, and the villain lets him go - and has him shot on his way out the door. He didn't think Mycroft would actually _do _anything like that, but he certainly didn't want to cross him.

As Mycroft stood to gather his belongings, Greg asked, "Shouldn't you text him or something - let him know we're coming by?"

Mycroft flashed him a wicked grin and replied, "Oh, I think it will be _much _more fun if we drop by unannounced."

* * *

They sat in Mycroft's car, heading towards Baker Street.

John tried to process the afternoon's rather startling new developments. He didn't have any problems with the incest thing - he was far more surprised that Sherlock managed to sustain a relationship with _anyone_. His main - well, it certainly wasn't a 'problem' - his main 'issue' was that now he could _do _something about those fantasies he'd had involving Sherlock. He'd legitimately be able to stare at him as he came out of the shower in the morning without feeling like a naughty schoolboy. He flashed on images of Sherlock grabbing the sink as John knelt behind him, spreading his cheeks and working his arsehole open with his tongue. He took a deep breath. His mind was getting away from him, even if it _was_ taking him to rather delicious places. He didn't want to end up with a raging erection right now. He mentally dragged himself back to the car, where Greg looked at him with a trace of amusement. Apparently his train of thought was fairly obvious.

"So, I've cleared both your schedules. I take it there will be no problem with starting this afternoon?"

"No, but, er, I had curry for lunch," Greg muttered. "Anyone have some Altoids?"

Mycroft smiled and opened a small compartment containing mints, a bag of Jelly Babies, and more startlingly, lube and wet-wipes. Seeing Greg's reaction, he said, "Opportunities are what you make of them," and handed him the small tin.

John got another mental image of Sherlock with his legs hooked over Mycroft's shoulders as Mycroft pounded him against the soft black leather of the car seat, and resigned himself to walking into his flat with an obvious erection anyway. It wasn't even worth trying to fight it. If the look on Greg's face was any indication, they'd probably both be in the same boat.

* * *

Greg had seen some rather remarkable things at 221b: explosions (some of them Sherlock's), suspects who 'fell out of windows', experiments with body parts in the fridge. But none of those things could have prepared him for what he saw when they opened the door.

Sherlock was trying to get his own dick in his mouth.

And he almost had it.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Really, Sherlock? You only came four hours ago; I hardly think you're _that_ desperate."

Mycroft might have been unimpressed, but Greg and John couldn't tear their gaze from the sight in front of them. Sherlock was technically lying on his back, but only his shoulders and head rested on the floor; the rest of his body was curled up and over him like a scorpion's tail, and his toes gripped the sofa behind him.

Sherlock's eyes flicked briefly in their direction. "Oh, God, Mycroft. You're _outsourcing_? Shouldn't you have asked me first?"

"What are you talking about? We're here on a case," Greg bluffed, trying to muster a look of shock, and failing.

"Oh please, Lestrade. It's obvious why you're both here. Mycroft has enlisted you both to make sure I don't go elsewhere for my _needs_. You know, brother dear, if you weren't so devoted to your work, this wouldn't be a problem."

"Are you saying you'd prefer another arrangement?"

Sherlock didn't respond for a few seconds, although it was unclear if this was due to indecision or the fact that he'd finally managed to stretch his tongue out far enough to reach the tip of his cock.

"Jesus," Greg muttered. "How is that even possible?"

"This arrangement will be fine," Sherlock replied after he seemed satisfied with his initial efforts with his tongue. "Lestrade and John seem amenable, and they've been interested for quite some time, as I'm sure you're aware."

"You _can_ call me 'Greg', you know."

Sherlock looked momentarily confused.

"It's my name."

"Right. Well, we'll see; I'm used to 'Lestrade'. You don't have much of a say in the matter."

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, don't be rude. Gregory, perhaps you'd like to help Sherlock with his manners?"

Greg wasn't exactly sure what Mycroft was getting at and gave him a confused look.

"His mouth," Mycroft replied. "He'll be quieter if it's full. If you help with his legs, I think he'll be able to reach more than just the tip. He seems quite insistent on satisfying himself - despite his better options - I think we should let him experience it."

Greg, who still hadn't quite got over that anyone could _bend _like that, grinned. "Sure, happy to help."

John watched with amazement as Greg slowly pushed Sherlock's legs closer to the sofa, allowing him to get more of his cock into his mouth.

Sherlock closed his lips around his own shaft and started to suck voraciously. He wrapped his fingers around the base and stroked himself as well, now that he no longer needed both arms for balance.

Greg bent his head to watch. It was a hell of a sight. John was equally mesmerised. Even Mycroft looked a little impressed.

"How is it, Sherlock? I know you've been working on this for a while."

Sherlock didn't reply, too caught up in sucking himself. Mycroft nodded at Greg, indicating for him to back off a bit. Sherlock's dick slipped from his mouth, despite his best efforts to hang onto it.

"Hey!"

"I asked you a question."

"It's… good."

"I'm glad to hear it. Gregory, you may continue. John, would you like to assist as well?"

John was having a hard time not rubbing himself through his trousers, he was so hard. Between the view of Sherlock's gloriously naked body and the sheer pornographic impossibility of what he was seeing, he was surprised he hadn't come in his trousers like a teenager. He glanced at Sherlock's gorgeous arse and gave Mycroft a questioning look.

Mycroft nodded.

John laughed. "I'd love to." He found a bottle of lube lying on the floor near his flatmate and poured a little onto his fingers. "Hold him still, Greg; I don't want him kicking you in the face."

Greg smiled at the advice and gripped Sherlock's ankles firmly as John wasted no time and plunged one slick finger into Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock made a muffled sound of surprise and his eyes went wide. He tried to push further onto John's hand, but the action pulled his cock away from his mouth. Sherlock grabbed it and latched back onto it with his lips, almost desperately.

"I could see how wet and open you were from here," John said. "You probably had two of your own up there earlier, didn't you?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Were you trying to do this?" John brushed his finger across his flatmate's prostate, and Sherlock let out a shout, leaving his cock dangling hard and thick between his legs.

"God, John! Yes, that."

"That's why it's good to have a doctor in the house," John said with amusement. He pulled his finger out and Sherlock groaned.

"No, don't stop."

"I didn't plan on it. Greg?"

Greg flashed him a wicked look. "He's not going anywhere."

"Good." This time, he plunged back in with two fingers. Sherlock's eyes rolled back at the sensation, his cock momentarily forgotten.

John reached down with his other hand and pushed Sherlock's dick back into his mouth. "Suck," he ordered, his military background suddenly apparent. "I'm going to make you come, and you're going to swallow every last drop of it; got it?"

Greg almost came in his trousers, unsure if his reaction was due to John's attitude towards Sherlock or his involvement in the whole sordid tableau. Probably both.

Mycroft watched the entire scene with a benevolent smirk, but Greg noted with satisfaction that even he sported an impressive bulge in his trousers - so much for 'the impassive observer'.

Once Sherlock had returned to sucking, John braced his free hand on Sherlock's arse and held him down as he engaged in an all-out assault on Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock gasped for air through his nose and his eyes clenched shut at the impending orgasm.

John bore down on his prostate. "You wanted to come in your own mouth, now do it. Come for me."

Sherlock's thighs went rigid and he strained against Greg's hold as his orgasm swept over him. He almost choked as the thick white fluid spurted down his throat; he gasped as he tried to swallow the rest. The awkward angle wasn't optimal, to say the least.

John eased his fingers out and Greg released his legs. Sherlock uncurled and flopped into a boneless, panting heap on the floor.

Well, _one _of them was satisfied, at least. John and Greg looked back at Mycroft, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Well, Sherlock?"

"A satisfactory result to my experiment," he managed, still breathing heavily.

"One unobtainable without assistance, I'd like to note; I suggest you thank John and Gregory for their help."

"Thank you," he muttered.

"Nice effort, but not what I had in mind," Mycroft responded. He turned to John and Greg, who had taken a seat on the sofa. "Don't let him fool you; Sherlock's appetite can be slaked just as effectively by serving others. I wouldn't want this to become a burden for you."

"Not really a burden," Greg muttered under his breath, greedily eyeing Sherlock's prone figure as he palmed his erection. _I'd be happy to just get myself off and come all over his chest, _he thought.

"I'll teach you how best to satisfy his impulses. While one of you should be enough to handle him, I suspect servicing both of you at once will be…" he turned to Sherlock and gave him a greedy look before continuing, "…mutually beneficial."

Sherlock had recovered his senses a little and crawled over to the sofa on his hands and knees with a predatory grin.

John wasn't sure he could believe the sight before him - his remote, arrogant flatmate, crawling and begging for sex. When Sherlock reached into John's lap and started undoing his trousers, he instinctively jolted backwards at the touch; his brain couldn't quite wrap itself around this. Sherlock tugged him back by his waistband and pulled down his zip.

"Gregory, I suggest you do the same; my brother does love having a cock in his mouth. I suspect two will be even better."

Greg didn't need to be told twice.

"Stand up," Sherlock said in a breathy voice.

John and Greg looked at each other and did as he said.

Sherlock pulled their pants and trousers down to their ankles and angled them so they faced each other. When their erect cocks touched, Greg and John exchanged nervous glances. They'd discussed fucking Sherlock, but they'd never talked about being intimate together, and it seemed somehow odd.

"You okay with this?" John asked him, as Sherlock - completely oblivious to the interaction going on two feet above his head - wrapped his hand around both their cocks and licked his way up both of them at once.

"Oh, God," Greg moaned, unable to stop himself. "Yeah, I am if you are."

Sherlock looked up, comprehending. "Oh, for God's sake, shut up and kiss or something. I don't need the two of you _negotiating _while I do this."

Greg fisted the hair at the base of Sherlock's neck and glanced at him with a quick smirk. "You're in no position to direct."

Greg's display of dominance elicited the same reaction as John's had: Sherlock gave him a greedy look before returning his attention to the two glistening cocks in front of him.

Mycroft smiled, pleased that they weren't going to defer to his brother. They were _exactly_ what Sherlock needed.

Sherlock held their cocks together above their balls and Greg's shaft slid against his cheek as he took John deep. After a few strokes on John, he switched to Greg. This time John's cock painted the other side of his face with his own saliva. He kept doing it until he had them both breathing heavily.

He backed off and flexed his jaw before he repositioned his hand further up their shafts, squeezing their fat cocks closer together.

Greg chuckled and looked at John. "Do you think he can do it?"

"God, I hope so."

Sherlock wet his lips before he opened his mouth wide and moved forward to take both of them at once. The soft skin of their cock-heads pushed tantalisingly at his mouth as his lips stretched impossibly tight around them. A smooth voice said, "Come now, Sherlock; you can do better than that." Mycroft pushed him down slowly but unrelentingly until the crowns of their dicks slid inside his mouth with a 'pop'.

"I didn't even think that was possible," Greg mumbled and John shook his head. The tight pressure of Sherlock's lips held them firmly in place. Sherlock seemed determined to show off and was trying to get even more of them inside his mouth. It wasn't very good as far as blow-jobs went, but the feat was nothing short of incredible.

"All right, Sherlock, I believe you've proved your point," Mycroft said, and Sherlock carefully pulled them out of his mouth while continuing to lick and stroke their shafts.

John glanced down at Sherlock and noticed he wasn't hard.

"Are you sure you're enjoying this?"

Sherlock looked up at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I only just came, John; I'm not super-human. Give me time. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't enjoy it, I assure you."

"In my experience, there's very little he _doesn't _enjoy. Sherlock, continue working on John with your mouth and give Gregory some attention with your hand while I give them a little background on your… care and feeding, as it were. If you'd both like to have a seat, you might be more comfortable."

They both collapsed back onto the sofa, and John sighed as Sherlock's mouth closed completely around his cock and he took him deep once again. Greg couldn't take his eyes off the sight of John's cock disappearing completely into the arrogant detective's mouth like that. He'd always assumed Sherlock was an inexperienced virgin, but the eager sucking noises and the blissful look on John's face indicated otherwise.

"Don't neglect Gregory, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped sucking John just long enough to lick a wet stripe up his hand, then he gripped Greg's shaft and started jerking him off. Greg fell back against the sofa and sighed; this was so much better than doing it himself. Besides, watching Sherlock do both of them like this looked like some sort of porno.

John tried to focus as Sherlock's hot mouth enveloped his cock. He'd fantasised about this so many times while lying in bed, but the reality was so much better. Sherlock was so damned enthusiastic and, well, he was fucking _good_ at it. He wasn't sure if he'd had any lovers other than Mycroft, but if he hadn't, Mycroft had taught him well.

Mycroft.

He looked up to see him standing behind Sherlock, smiling at them.

"As you can see, he has quite an appetite. I think pleasing both of you at once will suit him."

Sherlock made a muffled noise of agreement.

"Now, I believe it's obvious, but he doesn't require delicate handling; quite the opposite." Mycroft reached down and scraped his well-manicured fingernails down Sherlock's back. His brother merely groaned around John's cock and rolled his back into it with pleasure. "No permanent markings - anything like that is strictly between the two of us - but feel free to push his boundaries; he'll tell you if you need to stop."

Greg wondered exactly what sorts of things the two of them got up to, if permanent markings were even on discussion. He found the idea hotter than he thought he should.

"As you've seen, a little bit of discipline is good for him; he tends to get insubordinate if he's not kept in line. There's a variety of bondage equipment in the bedroom. He's quite fond of being immobilised whether he's being punished or pleasured." He gave Sherlock a fond look. "As much as he'd like the world to believe otherwise, the only time he wields his riding crop is on corpses; its use is strictly my domain." Mycroft looked up at them brightly. "If either of you would like instruction, I'd be happy to demonstrate."

An incredulous noise and a nod from Greg indicated that he'd be very interested.

"Oh, lovely. I'd hoped one of you would be enthusiastic about corporal punishment. He enjoys a good spanking too, don't you, Sherlock?"

He nodded, without breaking his rhythm on John's cock.

"He is, if you'll excuse the expression, quite the little pain slut. Unlike drugs, pain provides the high without the risk. And, as I'm sure you've already noticed, he has definite submissive tendencies. It's not that he's all about servicing others - his willingness to accept pain and be dominated is fairly selfish - he enjoys it as much as he enjoys burying his cock in my arse."

Greg's eyebrows shot up at that; he'd never considered the possibility of Mycroft in anything but a dominating role, and the image of Sherlock pressing Mycroft against the wall and fucking his brother senseless undid him as much as the idea of cropping Sherlock's marble-white arse until it glowed red. His cock got even harder in Sherlock's hand just thinking about it.

Mycroft shot a filthy, appraising glance down Greg's body and then looked him in the eye. "Don't worry, Gregory, I'm sure he'd be happy to do the same for you if you'd like that."

Sherlock stopped sucking on John long enough to look up at Greg and chuckled. "I think you're confused, Mycroft. He'd rather watch _us_."

"Fucking hell," Greg muttered. "Either. Both. Whatever I can get away with."

"Ah, I neglected to account for the voyeurism factor."

"You neglected to account for the 'dead sexy' factor," Greg replied. "Besides, since we're on the subject, I'll bet you look as good out of that suit as you do in it." He wasn't even sure when he'd started fancying Mycroft, but it didn't make it any less true.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared up at him intently, and Greg realised that he'd just hit on Mycroft - which was very much _not _what this was about. And would probably be perceived as a direct threat to their relationship. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry; shouldn't have said that. Don't worry, I won't…"

Sherlock stopped his ministrations on both of them and sat back on his heels. "It's all right," he interrupted. "See, Mycroft? I always said you should give yourself more credit. Besides, you're being nice enough to share; I might be able to do the same."

Greg breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

John watched the unfolding dynamics with fascination. He'd never imagined Sherlock could share anything, let alone his lover; he could barely share the fridge.

They all looked at each other silently; it seemed like time suspended itself for a few seconds while they realised the situation had gone beyond 'Weird' and into the territory of 'Utterly Mental'.

"I don't know what you're all so uptight about," Sherlock said, breaking the tension, "it's just sex. As long as nobody drags _emotions _into this, it shouldn't be a problem." Although you could hear his disdain as he uttered the word 'emotions', Greg noticed him flick a worried glance in Mycroft's direction, as if he were looking for confirmation that it really would be all right.

Mycroft returned it with the barest nod and a slight change in expression, but the relief that flooded Sherlock's face made Greg wonder if the brothers could communicate on a completely non-verbal level. Whatever private doubts Sherlock had held about his previous comment seemed to disappear.

"Perhaps John and Greg would like that demonstration now," Sherlock continued. "I know we weren't exactly _finished_," he said, glancing at their erections, "but I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to work on that."

"Yeah, sounds good," Greg said hurriedly and looked over at John.

"Sure."

"Let's move to the bedroom then, shall we?" Mycroft said, leading the way.

Greg and John pulled their trousers back up around their waists but left them undone; it seemed silly bother with the pretence.

Sherlock followed Mycroft, completely naked and not ashamed in the least. John wasn't sure what he'd expected from his flatmate; he hadn't expected Sherlock to be sexual at all. Now that he knew he was, his rather refreshing lack of shame about it seemed fairly logical.

"Bed or wall?"

"Oh, wall; definitely," Sherlock replied with barely disguised lust.

"Cuffs?"

"Your choice."

"Oh, I think I'd rather have you show off your self-control today."

Sherlock's mouth pursed in a slight pout, and Mycroft kissed it off his lips. "You told me to choose," he said, and Sherlock smiled.

The thrill that went through Greg's gut at seeing them kiss only cemented his desire to see them together. He wasn't sure if it was voyeurism or just that the two of them were gorgeous and so clearly in love. But it was _fucking hot._

Sherlock went to his wardrobe and retrieved the riding crop, hidden in the back behind his suits. After giving it to Mycroft, he braced himself at an angle against the wall with his forearms in a 'v'. He took a deep breath and rested his forehead against them.

Greg and John took in the spectacular view; Sherlock's cock hung half-hard and swollen between his legs, and his creamy white arse practically begged to be marked. Mycroft's fingernail marks from earlier still trailed down his spine.

John, being a doctor and not exactly wired to _enjoy_ pain, gave Mycroft a somewhat incredulous expression. "And this is a good thing, right?"

"Watch and learn, John," Sherlock replied with amusement. He didn't turn around, but he did flex his back so his arse was even more provocatively displayed.

Greg, on the other hand, had been on both the giving and receiving end of some rather intense spankings in a previous relationship and needed no convincing. He tried to keep his hand off his cock.

"There's no need to restrain yourself, Gregory; you're allowed to enjoy the demonstration."

Greg took his eyes off Sherlock to see Mycroft looking at him with a smirk, and his face reddened.

"I take it this isn't your first experience with discipline?"

He swallowed nervously. "Not exactly, no."

"Giving or receiving, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Both."

John looked at him in surprise, but Mycroft just beamed. "Perfect."

"You're more interesting than I gave you credit for, Lestrade," Sherlock said from his position against the wall.

Mycroft gave him a light swat with the crop. "Lucky for you, isn't it? I wouldn't entrust this to someone who didn't understand it. No offence, John."

"None taken." He was still trying to comprehend the idea of pain as pleasure, and the _last _thing he wanted was to be given that responsibility. He'd happily stick to the 'fucking him senseless' category.

"Ready?"

"Always," Sherlock purred.

Mycroft turned to Greg with a serious expression. "His safeword is 'safeword'. However, for safety reasons, I'm stipulating that anything involving pain shall _not _involve submission. Sherlock, I expect you to give Gregory plenty of feedback and direction; he doesn't know you like I do, and he's not a mind-reader."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm aware of the obvious. Besides, there are plenty of other things I can do to submit," he replied with a smile in his voice.

"Mm, and I'm sure you'll find every last one of them." Mycroft's tone was lighter now, and he ran his hand over the smooth curve of Sherlock's arse. "Now, Greg - have you ever used a crop?"

He shook his head.

"You should start out lightly and work up to harder smacks; like this." He demonstrated with quick swats of the crop that made Sherlock twitch and left faint red kisses on his skin. "Here, try."

Greg took the crop nervously and copied what he'd just seen Mycroft do. It got the same reaction from Sherlock, and he relaxed a bit.

"Now, start using just a little more force."

As the strength of his strokes increased under Mycroft's careful direction, Sherlock moaned and rolled his hips to give Greg a better target.

The sound of it nearly knocked Greg over. He'd just made Sherlock Holmes _moan_. He didn't even know that had been a life goal until it happened; it made him so aroused his cock ached. He swallowed and looked at Mycroft, who smiled encouragingly. "Keep going."

He kept going.

Greg only intensified the strokes when Sherlock requested it - well, 'begged for it' was probably more accurate. Each breathy plea undid him a little more, until he finally handed the crop back to Mycroft and said, "I'm honestly too turned on to do this properly. I think you should do it."

Mycroft smiled, kindly. "Of course. Sherlock?"

"God, yes," Sherlock pleaded, "just do it. Make it hurt."

Mycroft struck him, hard and uncompromising, in a series of strokes that went from the tops of his thighs up over his arse. Sherlock threw back his head and let out a low, ecstatic scream as Mycroft delivered the final three blows. Mycroft dropped the crop onto the bed as Sherlock turned to him with a hungry look and kissed him passionately, still moaning with pleasure. For the first time since he'd come earlier, he was as hard as a rock.

"Want to fuck you," Sherlock mumbled through their kiss. "Now."

The cracks showed even through Mycroft's stoic armour. "Not really the time," he replied, nodding towards Greg and John, but he couldn't help groaning as Sherlock pressed against him.

"They can watch. I _need _you."

The sheer, raw breathlessness of it finally did Mycroft in.

He looked over at them with an uncharacteristic, pained expression.

"S'fine by me," Greg said quickly. "Can we…?" he pointed at his straining cock.

"Of course. John?"

"Yeah. Sure." He sounded a bit awestruck.

Relief flooded Mycroft's face and Sherlock muttered, "Said they wouldn't mind." He kissed Mycroft hungrily as he peeled away layer after layer of his well-tailored suit.

With all the clothing finally gone, Sherlock's hands roamed all over his brother's body. He paused with a look of mild surprise when he reached Mycroft's arse.

"I'd thought perhaps… well, on the way to dinner later…" Mycroft muttered, sounding almost embarrassed.

"I don't know why you're apologising," Sherlock said as he gave his brother a wicked grin and slowly worked a massive plug out of him. "Less work for me." The plug left Mycroft wide open and well-slicked with lube, and Sherlock easily pushed three fingers inside him. "No work for me, apparently. God, I love you."

John nearly fell over when he realised he'd got it backwards earlier - his mental image should have been of Sherlock fucking Mycroft senseless in the back of that car.

When it sunk in that Mycroft was at least occasionally in the habit of wearing an arse plug under his three-piece suits, his previous assumptions about the man shattered completely. Greg appeared to be similarly stunned.

"How do you want it?" Sherlock asked.

"The wall."

Mycroft took up Sherlock's previous position.

They watched as Sherlock braced one hand on Mycroft's hip and lined up his straining cock against his brother's wet, twitching hole. He pushed in slowly - one long, delicious thrust - and Mycroft arched his back to accommodate his full length. Sherlock stayed there, balls deep, for a moment. He rested his forehead against Mycroft's back. "Okay?" he asked, quietly.

Mycroft nodded, and Sherlock repositioned himself so he could grasp his brother's cock; then, he started to thrust into him with long, steady strokes. Mycroft moaned and dropped his head back, and Sherlock reached up and ran his hand over his exposed neck and onto his brother's chest, using the leverage to push into him further.

"God, yes, like that."

Greg couldn't speak for John, but this was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen in his life. He'd pushed his trousers down around his knees as soon as Mycroft had given his 'permission', and he stroked himself as lightly as he could. He didn't want to come immediately, and watching Sherlock thrust over and over into his brother's golden, freckle-covered body was making things pretty damned imminent, no matter how much he tried to stave it off. The red marks on Sherlock's arse changed shape a little each time he pushed forward. It was mesmerising. The whole situation felt slightly unreal.

The brothers made low, desperate noises that were almost as pornographic as their actions. They were clearly caught up in the act, oblivious to Greg and John's presence as Sherlock pushed both of them towards orgasm.

Greg glanced over at John, who seemed to have forgotten the stiff cock between his legs. His eyes were locked on Sherlock, the look on his face somewhere between awe and disbelief.

Without thinking, Greg pulled John over to him and wrapped his hand around both their dicks.

"I'll let you watch, yeah?"

John nodded, vaguely, and turned back to Sherlock.

Greg smiled and started working both of them, with none of the restraint he'd shown before.

Sherlock's thrusts were shorter and more forceful now, each one of them pushing Mycroft's cock through his grip. His other hand was braced against the wall on top of Mycroft's, their fingers laced together in a gesture almost as intimate as their coupling.

Greg focused on the sight of Sherlock's long, elegant cock disappearing into his brother's arse and that was all he needed; he came with a shuddering groan all over his hand and John's cock. It was just more lube, really, and he kept working John until he came as well, biting his lip and mumbling curses.

They both stood there, ignoring their messy state, as they watched. Sherlock slowed a bit, deepening his angle, and Mycroft let out a cry as the new position forced his brother's cock across his prostate. He fucked him slowly and deliberately like that until Mycroft was practically begging for release, then he tightened his grip on his brother's cock and pounded into him.

Mycroft tensed all over as the orgasm hit him, and his hips jerked as his cock pulsed thick gouts of semen over Sherlock's hand.

"All right?" Sherlock asked quietly once Mycroft's aftershocks had passed.

He nodded, and Sherlock wiped his come-filled palm off against Mycroft's flank before he grabbed both hips and started pounding into him again, chasing his own orgasm. His brother willing gave himself over to it, and it took less than a minute before Sherlock came, shuddering, inside him. He collapsed against him, breathing heavily.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock kissed his brother's neck and Greg heard him whisper, "Love you, My."

"Love you, too."

Greg turned away, hunting for something to wipe himself off with; he felt like he was intruding on something far too tender to be shared.

"John knows where the towels are," Sherlock said as he stood up and turned to face them. His normally smooth voice was still ragged from the sex.

"Right," John replied, trying not to smear congealed semen everywhere with his hand. "Back in a sec."

"Well, I'm having a shower; I don't think a towel is going to be adequate," Mycroft said with a glance at his torso, which was covered in sweat and semen. He looked at his brother - also a naked mess. "Sherlock? You might be pushing the boundaries of 'Easy Clean-Up'; do you wish to join me?"

Greg wasn't exactly sure how to handle this. John obviously lived here and could retreat to his room, but what was _he_ supposed to do if they went off for a shower? What about _after _the shower?

"Um… don't take this the wrong way, but…" Greg looked around nervously. "… should I leave now? I'm just not quite sure…" he let his words trail off.

Mycroft looked at him almost as if he were surprised to see him there.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, Gregory. No, of course not. This… wasn't exactly how I'd intended the afternoon to go. I'd thought you and John would be more involved; I'd hoped to show you how to satisfy Sherlock _without_ my presence. It all went a bit sideways. I think it would be nice if we all went out for some supper after we get cleaned up." He looked around at them expectantly.

"All right," Greg said, rather relieved that he wasn't being chucked out. "Perhaps I should get a shower, then."

"You're fine," Sherlock interjected. "You didn't get any on your clothes. Unless you particularly want a shower, I suggest you go and have a drink while we get one. There's some good scotch up in the cabinet, and I believe John has a few beers in the fridge."

"Yeah, come on, I'll show you."

* * *

John stood at the open fridge, his head cocked, staring.

Greg came up behind him. "Sherlock replace your beer with body parts?"

"No… no, actually the beer is still in here," he replied, sounding surprised. "Want one?"

"'Need one' is more like it; thanks. What is it, then?"

John grabbed two beers and closed the door. He squinted at Greg in confusion and pointed towards the bedroom. "Did that really happen?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"This isn't just one of my really good dreams, then?"

The sound of creaking pipes answered the question for them. "Well, someone just turned on the shower," Greg said, "so I'm pretty sure it's not. Unless your dream has a shower in it."

John let out a small giggle.

"What?"

"Well… no, never mind," he said, and quickly took a long drink from his beer.

"Really, you can't tell me? After what we just did?"

"Well, Sherlock always walks around half-naked in a towel after he has a shower. It tends to give you ideas. When Mycroft came to us, I thought I might be able to actually do some of them."

Greg laughed. "You lucky bastard. Well, I suppose you more than deserve it for putting up with him full-time. Still can't believe I'm allowed in on it, quite honestly." He flashed John a beaming grin. "I must have done something right."

They sat in the living room and drank their beers in silence. Every now and then one of them would smile to themselves as they remembered some image from the previous few hours.

The shower was still running when Mycroft walked into the living room. His skin glowed from the hot water, and his normally tamed-beyond-belief hair ran riot in a mass of auburn curls. And, of course, he was wearing only a towel.

"Oh, God; not you as well," John muttered.

"Sorry?" Mycroft replied, confused.

"Nothing."

Greg grinned wickedly.

"I believe John's referring to your practice of wandering around in a towel; it seems to run in the family. John finds it rather distracting." Greg pressed his lips together to keep from bursting into laughter. John glared at him.

"I see," Mycroft said, smiling and playing along. "So you'd like me to make sure Sherlock is fully dressed whenever he walks around the flat, John?"

"I didn't say that," John replied. He knew he was being baited, but he didn't really care.

"Ah, so you'd prefer that he wear nothing while wandering around the flat?"

"No, I didn't say… actually, wait, that sounds good. Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Mycroft laughed. "Well, he'll be out here in a towel any minute now, so you can tell him yourself." He wandered into the kitchen. "Is this milk drinkable? I want to make some tea."

"Use the small one. The big one has stuff growing in it but he won't let me throw it out."

"Ugh." Mycroft made a face. "Some things never change."

John mentally rehearsed not being a berk if Sherlock did walk out in a towel. He'd decided on 'bored nonchalance', although he suspected neither of those words would apply. He could always go with 'enthusiastic honesty', but that would almost certainly lead into berk territory. Sherlock enjoyed attention, but he wasn't sure how _much _attention.

He didn't have to wonder long. John didn't think anyone else could pull off 'making a grand entrance dressed only in a towel', but of course Sherlock could. At least Mycroft had the decency to do something mundane while he walked around in one.

"Hello," he said with a smug grin. "You all look very relaxed."

John came up with a new idea. He could use 'righteous indignation'; it always made for an excellent fallback tactic in the face of 'smug bastard'.

"I'd have thought you'd be more relaxed than any of us," John replied. "After all, how many times have you come today?"

"Three. But the first one was hours ago. You can see why Mycroft can't keep up."

They heard a long-suffering sigh from the kitchen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I could go at least once more, I'm sure."

"I don't think so; it would take ages, and you'd probably be so over-sensitised you'd be begging us to stop long before you could actually get off."

"Well, now I feel obliged to prove you wrong," Sherlock replied.

"It's generally not a good idea to pander to him," Mycroft said. He stood at the entrance to the kitchen, looking amused. "But in this case, I think we could make an exception, if you're so inclined. It _would _allow me to show you some more of his sexual proclivities."

Greg looked at John. "I think we win either way."

"Yeah, and I'll get to try out that towel thing," John replied, with a hungry look.

"What 'towel thing'?" Sherlock replied, glancing down at his waist and then at Mycroft.

Mycroft shrugged.

"Not _with _a towel - more what I want to do to you while you're wearing it."

"Mm, you always get flustered when I walk around half-naked, and I wondered how long it would take before you said something. You really are quite the gentleman, you know."

"I didn't think you were interested."

"I'm always interested in sex, John, and now that I have more than one _outlet _for my needs…" he trailed off with a wicked grin.

"He really can be smug, can't he?" Greg asked Mycroft.

"You have no idea."

"Right," said John with determination. He strode over to Sherlock, pinned his wrists behind his back, and pushed him over the back of his chair.

Sherlock made an obscenely sexual noise. "I hope you don't think this is going to be punishment, John…"

John clamped his hand over Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock worked his tongue between his lips and licked John's palm.

John let out an exasperated groan. "I can't win."

"I have a gag in the bedroom," Mycroft pointed out. "He loves it, of course, but it does shut him up rather effectively. I suggest cuffs as well, if you'd like both of your hands free."

"Great idea. Would you mind getting them?"

"Oh, _happy _to help."

Mycroft returned with a pair of sturdy leather cuffs and a pacifier-shaped gag. Sherlock fought back as John tried to put it in his mouth, and John looked at Mycroft.

"He prefers a struggle. Sherlock?"

"It's true," he replied, then ducked away from John's grasp.

"Greg, some help?"

Greg was there immediately; he wrenched Sherlock's arm painfully between his shoulder-blades and used the hold to move him back to the chair and pin him there. Sherlock's moan seemed completely incongruous to the situation, but it backed up his earlier statement.

"Okay, give me his wrists."

John fastened the thick cuffs while Greg held him firmly in place.

Then he picked up the gag and tried to work it into his mouth, but Sherlock wasn't cooperating.

"Greg, hold his mouth open for me."

Sherlock flashed them a defiant, lustful look as Greg grasped his hair and pulled his jaw open with his other hand. Sherlock fought the intrusion of the gag with his tongue, but John managed to force it into his mouth and buckled it around his head. He had doubts about making it so tight, but the wear patterns in the strap made it clear this was how he liked it.

Mycroft came over to investigate.

"Very well done. As I said, he loves a bit of rough handling."

Sherlock moaned his agreement.

Mycroft slipped his hand between Sherlock and the chair and gave his cock a squeeze. "See, he's already starting to get hard again."

John looked at him incredulously. "How is that _even_ medically possible? He's not sixteen for Christ's sake." He reached to feel for himself - Mycroft was right.

"I've never understood it, John. Sometimes he'll go for days at a time without sex, but once the mood strikes him, he's almost insatiable. It's rather exhausting. Delightful, but exhausting."

John lapsed into 'doctor mode' and started muttering, "Could be spikes in his testosterone. Perhaps high libido triggered by hypomanic episodes. No, too frequent…"

"John," Mycroft interrupted.

"Hm?"

"Sherlock is bound and gagged and wearing only a towel. Perhaps you'd prefer to save the medical analysis for later?"

"Ah. Right."

Greg smirked at him.

John stood back and took in the sight. Sherlock was bent over the back of his chair, his arse covered with a fluffy white towel that practically begged to be pulled off.

"Sherlock, John has informed me that he'd rather you wander around completely naked. Isn't that correct, John?"

"It is." He licked his lips. "The towel doesn't let me see this," he said as he pulled it away to reveal Sherlock's gorgeous arse, still faintly marked from the earlier beating. "Or let me do this," he said, as he crouched down and spread Sherlock's arse cheeks with both hands. "God, look at you." He bent forward and licked a flat stripe across Sherlock's hole. There was a satisfying moan from the other side of the chair, so John did it again. It was just like his fantasy - except better - this had cuffs and a gag.

John stiffened his tongue and pushed it inside him, which elicited a new and more desperate level of moaning. John continued for as long as he could until his tongue started to cramp up, then he came up for a break.

"Tell me what he likes, Mycroft."

"Well, that for one. But then, there's very little he _doesn't _like when it comes to his arse. Toys, vibrators, fingers, cocks. You name it. He's quite talented too; given the right preparation he can take almost anything. I once fucked him with a dildo and my cock at the same time - he came so hard he screamed. I think he could probably take both of you at once." His normally smooth voice went a little ragged as he said it. "We should attempt it sometime when those of us with normal refractory periods are up for it. So to speak. God knows I'd love to try."

Greg and John just looked at each other, not even sure how to respond. The information that Sherlock was a complete arse slut was even more surprising than the revelation about Mycroft's choice in suit accessories.

"Jesus, I wish I _was _sixteen," Greg muttered. "I'd like to try that now."

"You and me both," John added.

"I think we're all in agreement on that point, but since Sherlock seems to be the only one capable of getting hard again so soon, I think a different 'team approach' might work for now. Let's go back to the bedroom."

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's cuffs and led him down the hallway. "I need to buy you a collar," he said, and Sherlock's eyes lit up at the words.

He positioned Sherlock with his side against the wall. "Stand there and don't move."

He turned to them and said, "I propose we take turns using his arse and going down on him while the third person uses some sort of sensation play."

Greg nearly choked.

"Is that all right, Gregory?"

"Yeah, that sounds fucking fantastic, lucky bastard."

"You'll find toys in the top dresser drawer. Who'd like to be where?"

Greg eyed Sherlock's thickening cock hungrily. "I'd like to give that a try, myself."

"Fabulous. John?"

"I'll leave the pain play to you. Besides, I'm having fun with his arse."

"All right, then. I think we have a plan. Sherlock, any issues with that?"

You could see Sherlock grin through the gag, and he shook his head.

"Somehow I didn't think you would," Mycroft replied and kissed his neck, just below his ear. "Having fun?" he added in a quiet voice.

Sherlock moaned through the gag and leaned into Mycroft's kiss.

"I'm glad."

The three of them went to work on him, using pretty much everything they could think of to make Sherlock mad with pleasure, and Mycroft took the opportunity to instruct them both on the use of almost everything in Sherlock's sock drawer. John soon understood why Sherlock would want to index it.

Both of them discovered a few things they hadn't known existed, let alone how to use them.

John found a point just below Sherlock's balls that was almost as sensitive as his arse, and then Mycroft showed him a vibrating prostate massager that managed to stimulate both spots at once. It nearly sent Sherlock through the roof.

Mycroft showed Greg how Sherlock liked just a _little_ bit of biting, and where, during a blow-job. And how to use nipple clamps to their maximum effectiveness.

The more they did to him, the more blissed-out and incoherent Sherlock became. He was propped against the wall, legs trembling and barely able to stand, while the three of them focused their efforts on him.

Mycroft removed his gag and cuffs in case they got to be too much. This had the added benefit of letting Sherlock tell them _exactly_ what he needed in order to come.

To nobody's surprise, he wanted more in his arse.

John and Greg stopped what they were doing and let him brace himself against the wall. Even now, he had the temerity to wiggle his arse at them, begging for it. John took a large plug from the drawer, and with a slow, insistent push, he started to work it into Sherlock.

With desperate pleas for more, Sherlock started to masturbate as John slowly fucked him with it, going a little deeper each time. As they approached the thickest part of the toy, Sherlock let out a growl of pleasure as his arsehole stretched almost impossibly wide.

"He's almost there. Force it the rest of the way in. Now."

John did as Mycroft said, pushing past the resistance to bury the last centimetre of it inside him. Sherlock let out an ungodly scream of pleasure and seized as the orgasm hit him.

Mycroft steadied him as he rode it out and then moved him over to the bed. The toy was still inside him, but they could deal with that later.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," Sherlock replied with an endorphin-fuelled slur. "M'good. Told you I could do it."

Mycroft smiled. "God forbid you be proved wrong."

John seemed a little confused by the lack of semen… anywhere.

Sherlock anticipated the question with a laugh. "Four times. You're the doctor; figure it out."

"Ah."

"So, do you think you're done for the day, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked with a small smile.

"Soon as someone gets this plug out of my arse. Think I'll need another shower though. No, a bath. No standing." The euphoric expression on his face seemed to indicate he'd finally reached the same level of satisfaction as the rest of them.

"I take it you approve of my 'outsourcing', then?"

"I won't need to suck my own cock again anytime soon."

* * *

Greg and John's involvement with Mycroft and Sherlock led to a rather surprising development - a budding relationship of their own. Instead of confusing matters, it only put the whole rather complicated situation on more stable ground. Jealousy isn't really an issue when you've all been sleeping together for months.

Mycroft finally got his priorities straight and started to 'outsource' more of his work-related tasks instead of his personal ones. His relationship with Sherlock was far too important to neglect, even a little.

Sherlock? As usual, he got everything he wanted - all of Mycroft's attention, and John and Greg's as well. And sex. Lots and lots of sex.


End file.
